


Summer Boyfriends

by Silencing



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silencing/pseuds/Silencing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce and his son Damian head upstate for a relaxing summer vacation at a tiny B&B, never once suspecting that it’ll be a summer that changes their lives. Fun, feel-good romantic fluff featuring cameos from the rest of the bat family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Boyfriends

The thermometer on the dashboard read only a few degrees cooler than it had just hours ago as he crossed over the trigate bridge and out of Gotham’s oppressive heat, but to Bruce Wayne, he might as well have traveled backwards into spring. There was greenery out here, wildflowers and trees all along the highway, more nature from the car windows than Bruce could get anywhere in his home city. They’d gone up along the coast, and every hour between him and Gotham put Bruce further at ease, even with Damian getting progressively more restless in the back seat (despite the fact that the SUV had practically enough leg room for him to run laps). His son had been less enthusiastic about their little summer getaway, but that probably had more to do with him being a moody teenager than anything. Fresh air and sunshine would do him a world of good.  
“It wouldn’t kill you to smile once in a while,” Bruce said, glancing back in the rear-view mirror and stifling a smile at Damian’s deep and well-cultivated scowl. “We’re almost there.”

“If by ‘there’ you mean the middle of nowhere,” Damian muttered. “We’ve seen nothing but cows and trees for the past two hours.”

“I thought you liked cows.”

The glare Damian threw him could’ve withered an oak tree. He very deliberately settled his headphones back over his ears and scooted over to the window, staring out sulkily at the passing farmland.

He was right - they’d seen precious little civilization for the last hundred miles or so. Bruce knew that the b&b Alfred had set them up with was remote, but the closer they got, the more Bruce was convinced they’d wind up at a log cabin in the woods. Not that that was a bad thing - he just had a creeping concern, nagging at him under all his cheerfulness over the weather, that he wouldn’t be able to get cell service out here, and he had a conference call on Thursday that he really couldn’t afford to miss. Not to mention a new client who needed constant pampering, his secretary’s week-long vacation coming up in a few days, and all the e-mails he’d miss-

But that was the whole point of this venture, Bruce reminded himself, forcibly ejecting his worry from his mind. There was an entire hierarchy in place just so he could take a vacation. If he was out of cell service, it’d be all the more relaxing for him.

The conference call, though. He absolutely could not miss that.

Despite his determination not to worry about work, Bruce felt a little relieved when they pulled off the highway and into a town that, though small, was clearly inhabited by people who used cell phones. Damian even perked up a little, watching with guarded interest as they drove down main street and past a half-dozen kitschy beach shops. There was only one diner on the entire strip, which seemed alien to the both of them, and Bruce wondered where he’d find his coffee in the morning - but maybe he’d be too preoccupied with sunbathing and sleeping to care. Drinking home-brewed coffee out of the b&b’s no doubt tiny kitchen never entered his mind. Who even made their own coffee anymore?

It was getting on into evening and it seemed like the whole town had turned out, walking in twos and threes, on their way to dinner or to shop, or to simply be out in the last few hours of sunlight. Bruce tried to picture himself strolling around so casually, like he hadn’t a care in the world. The concept was completely foreign to him. How did all of these people have so much time on their hands?

A few miles out beyond the town, they at last pulled up at a quaint little seaside cottage backed by rolling fields of beach grass. Two stories of white siding and big, airy windows rose above a wide veranda and a neatly kept kitchen garden, with inoffensively pastel lawn furniture scattered around the perimeter. If he hadn’t had an eye out for the numbers on the mailbox, Bruce might’ve driven right past it - only when he looked closer did he notice the small hand-painted sign by the door that read ‘Haly’s B&B’. The whole place seemed incomprehensibly tiny to Bruce, like a single apartment that should’ve had a whole other building attached, and he wondered if they’d feel cramped at all, though he assumed that like all B&Bs, this one was run by a little old lady and her little old husband, quiet and unobtrusive as church mice. Mr. and Mrs. Haly, probably. 

Bruce parked the car in a spit of gravel beside the cottage and unfolded his large frame out the driver’s side door, sighing with relief at being able to stretch his legs. The SUV was roomy, but there was only so much comfort you could get during a three-hour drive. He glanced around the lot as Damian hopped out beside him, shading his eyes against the setting sun and searching for signs of life.

“You think anyone’s home?” he asked, earning only a dramatic eyeroll from his son (still glued to the screen of his phone).

Bruce was just about to pull out his own cell to dial the B&B’s main line when he caught distant shouts coming from the shoreline about a mile off. They certainly didn’t sound like a little old couple, and Bruce frowned, wondering if there might be other guests staying. He didn’t see any other cars, though, beyond a rusted pickup that looked like it’d been sitting behind the house for months, and the nearest cottage was a good ways on down the road.

“Did you check to make sure we had the only reservation?” Damian asked, annoyed, finally tearing his eyes away from his phone screen to glare at the figures now pelting pell-mell towards the house. There were two of them, sun-bronzed boys who looked like they spent half their lives in the ocean and the other half sunbathing. The eldest, out in front, couldn’t have been more than 25, if that. The younger, rail-thin and slightly more burnt than tanned, looked just a few years older than Damian. That was good, at least - his son might actually spend time with someone his own age.

Both boys were laughing over some shared joke and didn’t notice the newcomers until they’d almost trampled them. They pulled up comically short in front of the SUV, both of them struggling to look a bit more composed, though with seawater dripping from their hair and sand caking their legs there was little hope of that. Damian rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘heathens’ at his phone screen.

The eldest brushed a clump of dark hair out of his eyes and stuck a hand out to Bruce, flashing a dazzling white smile. “Sorry, we didn’t think you guys’d make it before dark, what with traffic and all. I’m Richard - Richard Grayson - but pretty much everyone calls me Dick.” Damian snorted and Bruce threw him a look, but Dick carried on like he hadn’t noticed. “And this is Tim. You guys probably don’t want to stand out here much longer, so - we’ll help with your bags.”

Bruce raised a brow at that and looked past Dick to the house, still expecting the elderly owner to totter out the front door. The beach bum in front of him looked hardly old enough to be out of school - surely this was just a summer job for him. “Do you, ah, run the place?” he asked, trying not to sound too incredulous. 

Dick laughed at that and nodded. “Yeah. Inherited it from old Mr. Haly a few years back. Like I said, we expected you a little later, or else I’d have put a shirt on or something.”

And that would be a shame, Bruce thought before he could stop himself. Richard was handsome, there was no denying that. Though on the short side, reaching just to Bruce’s chin, he had long legs and lean muscle, and his eyes were astoundingly blue against his dark hair and olive skin. Bruce caught himself and cleared his throat, turning his back on Richard’s arresting features and going for the suitcases in the trunk instead. 

He thought back to the corny romance novel his secretary had left behind at her desk, a torrid affair between a rough-hewn cowboy and the town schoolteacher, and the way their first meeting had been described - like sparks thrown off a piece of flint. Not the most poetic or original choice, but Bruce thought he might understand the symbolism now. 

The summer might turn out more… interesting than Bruce had anticipated.

—-

After helping Bruce and Damian with their luggage, Dick and Tim had retreated to their own private corner of the house to give the others some time to settle in. Tim had taken over the middle of Dick’s bed, flat on his back and looking up at his phone screen, probably updating his facebook or something. 

“So, what do you think of our new guests?” Dick asked from his perch on the edge of his desk. From here he had a good view of the gravel drive and the SUV - and, consequently, of Bruce as he rummaged around inside of it, looking for anything they’d forgotten to take out.

“I think that kid is a jerk,” Tim said with a shrug, “But they’re paying us a lot of money, so I guess we can put up with a spoiled rich kid for a couple months.”

“Says the spoiled rich kid blogging on his phone,” Dick teased. “How big is your parents’ house again? Like, twenty rooms?”

Tim favored Dick with an exaggerated eye roll and put his phone aside. “You know what I mean. I’m not a jerk.”

“You sure about that, Timmy? You looked ready to fight that kid when he told you to take his bags upstairs.”

Tim rolled into a sit in the middle of the bed and curled his fists, miming a few uppercuts in Dick’s direction. “I could take him. He could probably use a little roughing up. …Uh, Dick?”

Dick had missed his gestures completely. Bruce was bending over the driver’s seat now, his back end sticking out of the door, and Dick had a really good view from where he was. 

“Hey, earth to Dick Grayson, what are you staring at?” Tim hopped up to join him at the window and Dick jerked back like he’d been burned.

“Oh, nothing, thought I saw some kind of weird bird down there,” he said with an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

Tim squinted down at the figure rummaging around in the car, and then slowly turned to stare up at Dick, suspicious. “Were you just staring at our new houseguest’s-”

“Hey, we’re running out of daylight!” Dick said, cutting him off with way too much cheeriness in his voice. “I thought you wanted to hit the beach one more time before sundown. Come on, our guests will probably settle in better if they have the house to themselves for an hour or so.”

Tim’s eyebrows almost vanished into his hairline, but when Dick stood up and shooed him towards the door, he went without complaining. He did actually want to catch a few more hours of daylight… and really didn’twant to know what Dick had been staring at.

—-

Once the initial culture shock wore off, both Bruce and Damian found the little cottage more comfortable and charming than they would have guessed. 

The inside of the house was just as quaint and unassuming as the outside. Dick and Tim clearly hadn’t done much redecorating since Haly’s day, and when Bruce had first stepped into the foyer he felt like he’d just stumbled several decades back in time. Warm pastel wallpaper covered every inch of every wall, different colors in each room, from sunny yellow in the foyer to cool sage in the sitting room and robin’s egg blue in the kitchen. Quaint beach scenes rendered in unassuming watercolor ran along under the crown molding in the sitting room, and delicate little birds flitted from panel to panel in the hall. There was a bit of clutter, too many armchairs and sofas crowding around an overburdened coffee table and knick-knacks covering every flat surface, but that only made the place feel homier, warm and inviting.

The bedrooms were surprisingly spacious, considering how tiny the place looked from the outside. Bruce’s was still only about a quarter the size of the master suite back in his penthouse in Gotham, but that seemed appropriate - the penthouse was pretty swank, but this was cozy and comfortable. Damian griped a little about the size of his room, but it seemed forced, like he figured he had to complain about something.

“I think this’ll be a pretty nice vacation,” Bruce said as he helped his son hang up a few shirts. “I’m enforcing a strict daily minimum of sunlight for you, though.”

“Tt. I get plenty of sun. It’s my vacation, too.” Damian finished hanging the last of his shirts in the tiny closet and looked up at his father, deadpan, and added, “If it will make you feel better, father, I’ll text from the veranda.”

Bruce smiled and ruffled his hair, then took a seat on the edge of the bed, the old mattress creaking under his weight. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then said, “I thought it would be nice if we could hang out more, this summer.”

Damian looked ready to deploy another expert eyeroll, but decided against it, sitting down next to him instead. “Is it time for the primitive rituals of father-son bonding? Baseball games and all of that?”

“Well, maybe not baseball,” Bruce said, “But yes, I suppose that’s kind of the idea. I’ve been busy lately with work and the Richardson fiasco, and I don’t even know how many after-school activities you’re in now. It might be nice not to have to worry about all of that for a while.”

Damian snorted. “I’m going to be terribly out of practice by the time we get home. But…” He shrugged, offering up a rare smile. “You’re right. It might be nice.”

Bruce laughed at that. “I’ll try not to force you into having too much fun here. But to start off with, I think we should take a walk into town, get the lay of the land.”

Damian nodded shrewdly. “Yes. That will give us a tactical advantage. And maybe there’s an ice cream place nearby.”

Bruce almost asked what kind of tactical advantage Damian thought he needed, but he didn’t really want to know. He was very into spy movies lately. 

“Grab a sweater, it’s bound to get colder here once the sun goes down. Especially if we get ice cream.”

—-

Damian seemed all for thoroughly spoiling their dinners with ice cream, and as much as Bruce wanted to indulge him (especially after his vacation speech), they passed by a charming little bistro just twenty minutes from the house, and the weather was so nice it seemed a crime not to take advantage of the outdoor tables. They took a walk down to the end of the main drag first for the sake of Damian’s ‘tactical advantage’, and Bruce made a mental note of the local used bookstore and coffee shop. Without the gym in his building to facilitate his workout regimen he’d have to fall back on regular old jogging, and in his mind stopping at the local cafe after a run sounded like the most pleasantly quaint vacation activity ever.

Their meal at the bistro was excellent (though they both privately agreed that Alfred made way better steak fries), especially with the cool evening breeze and the smell of the sea air all around them. Even Damian looked less uptight by the time they finished. Bruce kept an eye out for their hosts, figuring this was the kind of place where you could run into everyone in town at least once a day, but there was no sign of them. Probably giving them some time to settle in. That was generous - though Bruce wanted to get to know them better. Especially Dick. If they were going to be living in the house for a month, they might as well make friends, and something about Dick’s mannerisms put Bruce immediately at ease, even just from the fifteen minutes or so they’d spent chatting when they arrived.

Bruce paid the check, left a generous tip, and then loosed Damian to go running off down the street for the ice cream parlor they’d spotted earlier, charmingly named “Mr. Freeze’s”. Even as he stumbled into awkward teenagerhood, Damian hung onto his obsession with frozen dairy desserts, and woe betide anyone who mocked him for it. 

Bruce strolled after him more slowly, taking in the night air. He was enjoying the view so much that he didn’t notice Dick until the young man was almost right on top of him - damp-haired, sandy-kneed, like that was his natural state of being. This time he was wearing a shirt, but he’d obviously come directly from the ocean, the light cotton fabric sticking to his damp skin. 

“I see you guys found the town hot spot,” he grinned, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the ice cream parlor. “Good job. I guess you ate already?”

“At the little bistro on the corner,” Bruce nodded, returning Dick’s infectious smile. “They make great sandwiches. I, ah. I hope you didn’t have anything planned.”

Dick shook his head. “Not at all. We can feed you if you want, or you can use the kitchen, or whatever - Tim and I are flexible. Our house is your house.”

With anyone else, Bruce would’ve had reservations about that statement, but Dick seemed to genuinely mean it. Indeed, Bruce got the feeling that it’d be more of an imposition not to take advantage of his hospitality. “We’re not much for cooking, but thank you. I’ll make sure Damian doesn’t eat you out of house and home.”

“Tim does a good enough job of that on his own.”

“Teenagers,” Bruce chuckled, “They’re like bottomless pits. I don’t think even I can pack it away like my kid can.”

Later on, Bruce would wonder how he’d come to speak so easily and naturally to a virtual stranger, but in the moment it just felt right - joking with him, talking like they’d known each other for years. When Dick followed him into the ice cream parlor and took a seat opposite him while they waited for Damian, Bruce was glad for the company.

“You know,” Dick said, resting his elbows on the wrought iron table, “I don’t think I ever interrogated you about what you do for a living. It’s kind of a rite of passage for our guests.”

Bruce was surprised that Dick didn’t know the answer already - everyone in Gotham recognized him on sight. It was startlingly refreshing to have someone ask for a change, like he was just some anonymous banker or something. 

“I work for a multi-national corporation. Pretty boring stuff. It’s nice to get out of my office building.”

“I’ll bet,” Dick said with a grin. “Plus I hear it’s sweltering down in Gotham this time of year. You should pop the windows open in your room tonight. A-plus natural air conditioning.”

Everything about Dick set Bruce at ease. That was unusual - Bruce usually had to keep his guard up as a matter of course, but Dick dismantled all of that without any effort at all. He’d met a lot of people like him at parties and functions, but where wealthy Gothamites cultivated the look and the attitude, Dick seemed to have simply been born with it.

It didn’t seem fair, to feel simultaneously at ease and more off-balance than he had in years. 

Dick cocked his head, looking for a response, and Bruce realized he’d been staring. He cleared his throat, looking for something intelligent to say, but Damian saved him the trouble, appearing like a godsend with two huge sundaes and a mess of napkins.

“It’s like trying to contain Chernobyl,” Damian said, trying to lick drops of ice cream off the side of one of the containers. “Quick, father, take one before I’m overwhelmed!”

“Yeah, the sundaes here are legendary for that,” Dick said, hopping up to grab another stack of napkins. Was he relieved to have an excuse to get up, Bruce wondered? He didn’t have much time to think, though, because Damian was jabbing ice cream at him, and if he wasn’t careful it’d drip all over his shirt.

“Did you bring me ice cream or a nuclear explosive?” He twisted around to catch some of the ice cream with his tongue, feeling thoroughly undignified. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he caught Dick looking at him, maybe even staring back just as awkwardly as he’d done a minute ago, but he couldn’t tell for sure, and by the time he’d worked his sundae back into a manageable shape, he’d convinced himself it was nothing.

—-

“Oh my god, Tim, I asked him what he does. I asked Bruce Wayne what he does for a living.”

Tim disguised a laugh behind an extremely unconvincing cough and patted Dick’s shoulder the next time his pacing brought him close enough. “I’m sure he didn’t mind. But, uh. Yeah, way to be a winner, Dick. It’s not like Wayne Tech makes every modern convenience ever or anything like that.”

“I should have googled him first,” Dick said mournfully, flopping back into his desk chair. “Now we definitely look like backwoods hicks.”

“We?” Tim shook his head. “This one’s all you. Anyway, why does it matter so much? You didn’t seem bothered when his kid was judging us.”

That was… a good question, actually. Why did it bother him? At the time, Mr. Wayne had just smiled at him and answered like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just been on the cover of The Economist a couple of months back. Maybe he really didn’t mind, but Dick still felt embarrassed and flustered over it, which was kind of a weird experience for him. 

“Damian’s thirteen, of course he was judging us,” Dick said. “But, hey, you’re right, it’s probably not a big deal. Just… remind me to google up our super wealthy guests in the future.”

—-

A few days after arriving, Bruce already felt like he was staying over at Dick’s home - which, he supposed, he was - but rather than feeling like a stranger or an imposition, he felt like a welcome guest.

Breakfast was probably the biggest contribution to the welcoming atmosphere. Neither Dick nor Tim was anywhere near as accomplished a cook as Bruce’s butler, Alfred, but there was a certain homey charm to farm-fresh eggs over slightly burnt toast. Damian, picky eater extraordinaire, had hardly complained, even when the eggs came out a little overdone and his coffee contained white sugar instead of organic all-natural. 

Sitting around the round dining table with warm, honey-gold sunlight pouring in through the kitchen windows, a mug of inexpertly brewed coffee in-hand, with their hosts still in sleep pants and a stack of pancakes right in the middle of the floral tablecloth, Bruce could almost picture himself on the set of a chintzy summer movie. 

“Do you get many visitors here?” Bruce asked Dick over the rim of his coffee cup. “It seems fairly quiet.”

“It’s probably because you’re used to Gotham’s noise,” Dick grinned. “To us, it’s pretty chaotic this time of year. Not that you guys are, I mean - it’s mostly the town.”

Damian snorted around a mouthful of pancake. “I can’t imagine what it’s like in the off-season then. It’s practically a ghost town now.”

Bruce jabbed him under the table, but Dick seemed not to hear the implied insult at all. Tim, on the other hand, frowned a little at the remark and put down the section of newspaper he’d been reading.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he asked, squaring his shoulders a little as though anticipating a fight. He and Damian… Bruce wouldn’t call them enemies, but they’d certainly clashed from the moment they’d arrived. 

“You big-city folks, you come here specifically because you’re sick of the noise,” Tim continued. “Kind of weird that you’d complain about it.”

Bruce cleared his throat before Damian could snap back a response and gave their hosts his most charming, impressing-the-investors smile. “We have been enjoying it. It’s nice not to walk around in a cloud of other peoples’ cell conversations and taxi fumes.”

Damian looked annoyed at being cut off from his no doubt brilliant retort, but went back to his pancakes without pressing the issue. He seemed pretty taken with Dick, and Bruce suspected it was more respect for him than anything else that kept him quiet.

“In another month it’ll be even more crowded around here,” Dick said. “I mean, not nearly what you’re used to, but August is really our busiest time. You picked a good week to start your vacation. It’s nice that you’ll be here so long - you’ll really get a feel for the town.”

Dick had just about the nicest smile Bruce had ever seen. He got a little caught up in it, just then, and in the way the sun dappled Dick’s shoulders, bringing out the warm copper of his skin. He might’ve only heard half of what he was saying, despite the way his gaze lingered on his mouth. It was an increasingly problematic habit, and one Bruce was struggling to control. 

In his defense, Dick was a very handsome man. He seemed to get more handsome with every passing day, as well. It made Bruce feel a bit like an old letch - he was nearly a decade older - but at the same time, Dick seemed more than happy with the attention. Bruce was fairly certain he’d caught at least a few of his lingering glances.

Like this one, in fact. Bruce met Dick’s gaze and turned away, busying himself with the syrup bottle, but not before catching Dick’s entirely too knowing smile. Thankfully, both Damian and Tim seemed to have missed it.

“You both should come to the beach with us later,” Dick suggested. “We’ll make sandwiches.”

Something in Dick’s expression loosed a flock of butterflies in Bruce’s stomach, and he took a long drink of coffee to drown them. He’d been a bachelor much too long, clearly.

—-

Bright sunshine apparently didn’t agree with Gothamites. At least, not with Bruce. Dick had watched him get more and more burnt as the day wore on, but he seemed to be having so much fun, Dick didn’t have the heart to stop him. Besides, it was hard to tell just how roasted he’d gotten until they came back inside hours later. Dick hoped that frolicking in the water had been worth it - even under his shirt Bruce was as red as a cooked lobster.

“Alright. Tell me the truth,” Bruce said, turning his back to Dick and reaching down to peel off his polo. “How bad is it?”

Dick himself sucked in a breath through his teeth, watching the scratchy fabric scrape across burnt skin. Bruce was probably wincing, but they were alone in the kitchen so there was no one else to see his moment of weakness.

“Uh. Well, on the bright side, you’ll probably have a killer suntan after this.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose and carefully folded his shirt over his arm. He didn’t turn around - Dick figured he was too embarrassed. “That’s what I get for being a city slicker, I suppose.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re just not used to being out in the sun. First sunburn of the season is kind of a badge of honor,” Dick said cheerily, walking over to retrieve his shirt. “C’mon - I have a king-size bottle of aloe just for this occasion.”

Bruce followed him a bit reluctantly, but Dick could tell he was hurting, and it’d only get worse over the next few hours. He led him to the living room, intending to lay him out on the couch, but after a moment’sconsideration carried on upstairs - Bruce probably wouldn’t want to be stretched out helpless on the couch when the boys came back from getting ice cream. At least in his room he’d have some privacy. 

Dick told him to lay down in the middle of his bed and then moved on down the hall to retrieve the aloe. Halfway there he stopped dead, a pink flush creeping up the back of his neck. He’d rubbed Tim down plenty of times before, and more than one sunburnt tourist as well, so he was pretty good at doctoring them up at this point - but Bruce was different. Bruce was-

He was really hot.

Dick had thought so from the moment he’d first seen him, a big handsome guy in his preppy collared shirt, equipped with the most devastating jawline Dick had ever seen. He had to have one hell of an exercise routine with the way his biceps seemed to be trying to bust out of his shirt sleeves, and his thighs were huge, like he ran marathons for a living or something. Dick had had a heck of a time not staring while they’d been at the beach together, especially when Bruce came sprinting back up the beach after pushing Damian in the surf, water sliding down his washboard abs, looking like a freaking Baywatch actor. 

Dick was lusting after someone’s dad. And now he was about to rub that impossibly chiseled back down with aloe. Luckily, Bruce’s sunburn was bad enough to staunch unclean thoughts a little. Otherwise Dick didn’t know how he’d get through it.

He took a little detour to his room to slide a shirt on over his bare chest, then trotted back to Bruce’s room to find the big man sprawled out on his stomach, limbs splayed, head turned away from the door. Dick held back a chuckle and shut the door behind him to preserve his dignity. Hopefully Tim and Damian would be out for a while.

“I brought you a present,” Dick said, wagging the bottle of aloe at Bruce as he turned his head to face him. “This will make you feel a lot better.”

Bruce grunted in reply and heaved a big, deep sigh, arranging his limbs more neatly on the bed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dick climbed carefully onto the bed beside him, and after a moment’s thought (and a warning touch to Bruce’s upper back), swung a leg over him to straddle his hips. It was a little bit like scaling a mountain. He flushed as red as Bruce’s burnt back as he settled atop the big man’s extraordinarily firm backside and was glad Bruce had his head buried in his pillow.

“Sorry, this is the easiest way to get to your back,” Dick said, adjusting his balance to sit as lightly as possible over him. “Man, it’s a good thing you wear trunks - I’ve seen speedo sunburns, and trust me, it’s not pretty.”

There were other reasons Dick was glad for Bruce’s marginally more covering swimwear. It was bad enough trying not to stare at how low they rode on his hips with water dragging them down without getting a clear picture of what was going on under them.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bruce said, and despite his compromised state, there was a little trace of humor in his voice. “Better leave my beach thong in the suitcase.”

Dick swallowed hard and focused on warming up the bottle of aloe to distract himself. He rolled it between his palms until it felt slightly more room-temperature, then squeezed a glob out on his hand, a sharp menthol smell quickly filling the room.

“This is gonna feel cold,” Dick warned him, then brushed his hand over the top of Bruce’s back. He felt him flinch and saw him clench his fists tighter, and the corners of his mouth pulled down in concern. In a moment, all the tingly heat and barely suppressed dirty thoughts left him, and he focused on treating Bruce’s burns. He felt a little guilty, too - here he was fantasizing while the poor man was probably running a temperature and aching all over.

“Once all this heals, you’ll be as tan as I am,” Dick said cheerily as he smoothed aloe over Bruce’s whole back. “You’ll look like you live on the beach 24/7.”

“No pain, no gain, I suppose,” Bruce said with a wry smile, twisting his head to glance up at Dick. “You have had practice at this, haven’t you?”

Dick nodded and leaned forward to work on Bruce’s shoulders. “Years of it. I don’t usually have such a big patient, though.”

Bruce chuckled at that, the low rumble of his voice rattling up through Dick’s spine. “Thank you. I think.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, that was a compliment,” Dick said hastily, blushing again. “I mean, wow. Your workout routine must be intense.”

“It’s a habit,” Bruce said. “Or possibly an addiction. I’m afraid Damian’s inherited it - he has more after-school athletics than I can count. It’s hard for me to keep track, with my schedule the way it is. I worry he’s pushing himself too hard.”

Bruce’s candor still surprised him. He’d seen the way he was with strangers, even with Tim - aloof, concise, quiet. But from day one he’d spoken to Dick with a measure of ease, like they were a pair of old friends reunited. That made Dick inexplicably proud and pleased. He liked when Bruce spoke to him - liked his low, deep voice, the warmth it took on when he was talking about his son, his brand of dry understated humor. Sometimes he felt like he’d never get enough of listening to him, and they’d known each other for less than a week.

“This trip will be good for him,” Bruce continued, closing his eyes again and relaxing under Dick’s hands. “No matter how much he complains.”

“He seems to be thawing a little, that’s for sure,” Dick agreed, wiping off the last of the aloe along Bruce’s sides. “I mean, we’ll know if that’s true, anyway, when they both get back from ice cream without any stab wounds.”

Bruce laughed again at that, rich and warm, and Dick slid off his back before he could embarrass himself. “I’m going to leave this here for you,” he said, setting the bottle down on the nightstand, “And I’ll grab you a glass of water, too. You just lay there and relax for a while.”

Dick trotted out of the room and downstairs, glad for his own sake that the boys were still out, because he was going to need a couple of minutes to collect himself and quit grinning like an idiot. 

—-

 

Bruce was embarrassed to admit it, but regular old grocery shopping was well out of his range of expertise. Alfred usually took care of this sort of thing by way of a bi-weekly fresh produce delivery to the Manor and the occasional (and self-indulgent) trip to the Gotham Greenmarket. Bruce’s only experience buying groceries extended to high-class wine shops and, very rarely, field trips to fancy cheese shops. This cavernous grocery store full of tall shelves and innumerable kinds of marinara sauce and canned beans left him feeling confused and bewildered. All he wanted was sandwich ingredients, but how was he supposed to know which lunch meat to choose? Dick had sent him over for picnic food so he could make a run to the bank, and Bruce was about to let him down out of sheer confusion. 

He stood in front of the deli counter for far longer than necessary, scooting out of the way of impatient old ladies and more determined shoppers with muttered, embarrassed apologies. Ham looked like the right choice - Alfred made the best ham sandwiches with brown mustard and lettuce and onions. But there were four different kinds of ham, and Bruce didn’t even want to think about the condiments aisle.

“You figured out what you want, buddy?” asked the pockmarked teenager behind the counter, not quite concealing a smirk. “Store closes in eight hours.”

Bruce frowned and considered just picking up pre-packaged bologna instead. Before he could turn his back on the deli counter forever, though, a familiar figure sidled up next to him, a full grocery basket over one arm. Bruce colored a little, wondering whether Dick had seen him mulling over lunch meats. How had he already gone to the bank and filled his basket, while Bruce was still trying to determine the difference between honey and Virginia ham? 

“Damian likes ham, right?” Dick asked with a sunny smile. “I’d recommend the boar’s head. I hear that’s all they sell in Gotham delis, is that true?”

Bruce made a noncommittal noise to cover for the fact that he had no idea what the average Gotham deli sold and, for lack of anything better to do, stuck out a hand to take Dick’s basket. “May I?”

“Oh, Mr. Wayne,” Dick said, fluttering his lashes, “How gallant of you. Watch out, it’s full of canned tomatoes. Tim suggested a big pot of spaghetti tonight.”

Bruce hefted the full basket easily, and Dick squeezed his bicep with a teasing grin. The gesture brought a warm fluttering to Bruce’s chest, and he tugged his arm gently out of Dick’s grip with a smile. 

“That’s one of Damian’s favorite meals. Watch him complain about it tonight, just because it’s Tim’s choice.”

Dick laughed and nodded. “They seem to antagonize each other for the fun of it. Tim hasn’t been this lively in months.”

Bruce finally stepped forward to the counter to place his order - boar’s head ham, just as Dick had suggested. The teenager gave him a look, but didn’t say anything else, just sliced off his pound of lunch meat (and the cheddar cheese Dick added in). Bruce wondered if having a local at his elbow protected him against sarcasm.

“Let’s finish off the list together,” Dick said, tossing a quick smile to the deli counter kid before leading Bruce back into the maze of shelves. “We probably need mustard and bread, right? Oh, and pickles - can’t go without those. You can keep on carrying the basket,” he added with a teasing grin.

As they wandered the grocery store together, Bruce wondered how other people saw them - if they saw them as a couple, summer-tanned and smiling. He wondered why he’d even thought of such a thing.

—-

Protected from the sun by a healthy dose of sunscreen, Bruce felt much more at ease relaxing on the beach this time. He was expecting a call and mostly stayed out of the water, but it was still nice to watch the boys swim and lounge around on a beach towel like he hadn’t a care in the world. Anyway, someone had to guard the picnic basket from seagulls. Dick kept coming out of the water, too, to sit with him, chatting about nothing in particular or just enjoying the sun and the sound of the waves together. 

Comfortable as he was with Dick, the longer they spent together, the more anxious Bruce felt, as though he should be doing something other than merely sitting beside him. For example, now - Dick was so close Bruce thought he could smell the fresh, clean soap scent of him, but there was still too much space between them for his liking. The sun wasn’t the only thing warming him, and he couldn’t help but think he was missing out on something important - like he was missing his chance to pull him closer, to bring his face right up to that bright sunny smile and-

“Father, we’re starving.”

Saved by the bell, it seemed. Bruce shaded his eyes and looked up at his son, suddenly standing over him with his hands on his hips, caked in sand. Tim was just behind him with an odd look on his face, and Bruce wondered if he knew what he’d been thinking. That was a distinctly uncomfortable notion.

“Well, we have plenty of food,” Bruce said heartily, moving over to make more room on the blanket (and give himself a little distance from Dick). “Just don’t get sand in it.”

Soon enough Bruce was able to forget his earlier discomfort. The sandwiches had all turned out pretty well, thanks to Dick’s direction. He was sure he would have picked up the completely wrong mustard if it’d been up to him.

“These sandwiches are surprisingly palatable, father,” Damian said, inspecting his sandwich as though he expected a ‘made by Alfred’ label to float down from between the ham and mustard. 

Bruce chuckled and helped himself to another. “No thanks to the kid behind the deli counter. I don’t think anyone has ever given me the stink-eye that hard before.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim said, pulling a face. “I bet it was Jason. He has it out for tourists.”

Between them, Damian stiffened up, twin spots of color appearing on his cheekbones. “You must have said something inane,” he said, not quite looking at Bruce. “Todd wouldn’t give you the ‘stink-eye’ for no reason.”

Bruce raised a brow, glancing sidelong at his son. “You know this kid?”

“Yes, father, I am capable of making acquaintances on my own,” Damian huffed, squaring his shoulders. “While you were laying around in bed with a sunburn, I took it on myself to explore the town.”

“And you befriended the deli counter guy?”

“He does other things, don’t be so judgmental,” Damian said with a scowl. Behind him, Tim was giving the most dramatic and impressive eye roll Bruce had ever seen, even living with Damian. Dick was trying to hold in a laugh.

“Well, tell him to be nicer next time,” Bruce said, mouth twitching as he tried to keep a straight face. “We wouldn’t have any lunch at all if Dick hadn’t swooped in to tell me what to buy.”

Dick gave a modest shrug and reached for a bag of chips. “You’ll learn.”

After lunch, the boys went back in the water, despite warnings against cramps. Bruce decided to head up the beach a little ways and find some shade to sit in, now that the seagull danger had passed. With the basket and blanket bundled under his arm, his ear tuned for the sound of his phone ringing, he trekked up the sand until he found a spindly beach tree halfway between the shore and the house. It seemed as good a place as any to settle in - the roar of the ocean was distant enough now that it wouldn’t interrupt his call. He was a little disappointed to leave Dick behind, but then again, solitude was much easier on his nerves.

He must have dozed off for a moment, because when he next opened his eyes, he wasn’t alone anymore - Dick was perched on a tree root right next to him, gazing out across the beach. Bruce started a little and reflexively checked his phone for missed calls.

“Tired of this perfect day already?” he asked, teasing a little. 

Dick snorted. “I live here year-round. What’s your excuse?”

“Waiting on a call,” Bruce said with a wry smile. “You know what they say - Gotham never sleeps.”

“Or goes on picnics, apparently. At least this way you won’t get sunburnt again.”

Bruce feigned a wounded look, and Dick patted his shoulder sympathetically. 

“”I told you you’d end up with a killer tan, though, didn’t I?” Dick said, eyeing Bruce’s sun-bronzed skin. 

“You’re going to miss having the opportunity to rub me down with aloe, though,” Bruce said with a teasing smile of his own, not sure where the remark had come from or why he’d said it. The tips of his ears immediately flushed red with embarrassment, but Dick was blushing too, and that made it a little less awkward. 

“Hey, big guy, I’m not going to miss out on anything,” Dick said, almost challenging him. “Next time you need someone to sunscreen your back, you know where to find me.”

Bruce wasn’t really the best at quips. He could think of half a dozen things to say at that moment, and none of them were appropriate. Especially not the ones about Dick’s mouth. Dick watched him, tense, anticipating something, and licked his lips in the silence, and Bruce felt like he was about to hurl himself off a bridge. There was only one thing to do then, one thing that’d been building from the moment he’d first laid eyes on perfect Richard Grayson-

And then his phone rang, loud and jarring, jerking them apart.

“I have to take this,” Bruce said, deeply apologetic, after a moment of ringing. “It’s-”

More important than what he was doing now? That was debatable.

“It’ll be more annoying if I don’t deal with it,” he finished lamely, answering the call and bringing his phone up to his ear.

Dick looked disappointed, but covered it up with a cheerful smile and stood up, dusting sand off his knees. Bruce missed the first couple seconds of the call as it was, watching Dick mouth ‘see you later’ and trot off back down to the surf.

Bruce really wished the cell service wasn’t so great out here.

—-

“There’s a big nor’easter rolling into town, we need to get everyone inside. The news reports are saying it could be pretty bad.”

Listening to the rain lash the kitchen windows, Bruce could believe it. It was only five, but already the sky was dark and threatening, with big heavy storm clouds looming over the town. When he’d gone out on the back porch to bring their swimsuits in off the clothesline, he could hear the roar of the ocean as it chewed its way up the shore. Gotham had its share of flood warnings, but big sea gates and geography kept the city itself safe. This was entirely different - nothing stood between them and the storm but a few thousand yards of sand.

“Shouldn’t we get more inland?” Bruce asked. “We’re, ah… very close to the water here.”

Dick shook his head and started piling rain-soaked towels and swimsuits over Bruce’s arm. “Not unless they give evacuation orders. Don’t worry, though - this house has been here for decades. A little rain won’t do any harm.”

Bruce followed him into the living room, impressed with his efficiency. He knew what he was doing, that was for sure - every other cabinet seemed to have a stash of flashlights and batteries, and he checked the seal on every window and door for leaks like a master craftsman inspecting his work. There was even a backup generator tucked under the deck, wrapped up tight in tarps. By the time Dick had finished his check of the house, the wind was howling so loud that Bruce was sure something was about to rip off the roof, but Dick seemed content, and Bruce decided to trust his judgment. 

Not all was well, though. Tim and Damian were still nowhere to be found. 

“Tim knows better than to stay out in a storm like this,” Dick muttered, staring out the front window and juggling his phone between his hands. He was kneeling on the couch cushions, leaning on the window frame, and under any other circumstances Bruce would’ve found the scene rather charming. “They should’ve been back by now.”

“No word from Damian, either,” Bruce said, checking for texts for the fifth time in as many minutes. “Should we go looking for them?”

Dick eyed the ever-darkening sky and then glanced at the TV, where he’d put the local news on for updates, and then back outside. “Tim knows what to do in weather like this. I’m sure they’re somewhere safe.”

Bruce mulled that over a moment, thinking over all of the places they could be - at the grocery store, the nearby cafe, the used bookshop Damian had taken a recent liking to. Wherever they were, there’d be people nearby to keep an eye on them. Still, his gut churned with worry, and only Dick’s stillness kept him from buttoning on a rain poncho and running outside to search for them.

After what seemed like an age of tense silence, Dick brightened up with a triumphant shout and twisted to sit down on the couch properly. “I bet you anything they’re at Jason’s. Give me a sec, I’ll call him up and see.”

Bruce furrowed his brow at the thought of Damian and Tim holing up with someone who hardly seemed responsible for himself, let alone a couple of kids, but Dick seemed to have a lot of faith in him. And even that was better than the two of them running around outside in the rain.

Dick tapped impatient fingers against his knee as he waited for someone to pick up the phone, and on the third ring Bruce heard another voice on the other end of the line, along with some kind of commotion in the background. Sure enough, Tim and Damian were both there in Jason’s apartment - and none of them had heard their phones thanks to Jason’s stash of monster movies. 

“They’re watching King Kong vs. Godzilla,” Dick explained on seeing Bruce’s expression. He turned his attention back to his phone and said, “Of course I know what King Kong vs. Godzilla sounds like, Jay, I’m not an amateur. Listen, just keep everyone there until the storm passes, and call us if the power goes out or anything. And don’t give Damian liquor, you know Tim will rat you out if you do.”

Bruce made a noise of incredulity at that, but Dick hung up before he could grab the phone and give Jason an earful. Dick just smiled at him and shrugged as if to say, kids - what can you do?

“I guess it’s just us, then. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” Dick teased, patting Bruce’s arm.

Bruce let out a huff and tried to force himself to relax a little, dropping down to sit next to Dick on the saggy couch. The wind was really picking up now, at times driving the rain sideways, but now Dick looked completely composed.

“I must look a little foolish,” Bruce said with a wry smile. “Afraid of a little thunder.”

Dick shook his head and grabbed the remote to switch the news off. “Not at all. It’s kind of nerve-wracking, and you’re not used to it. Plus, having your kid go missing at a time like this - that’s not easy.”

Bruce nodded, his ego soothed, and leaned back into the couch, spreading his arms along the back as though taking up a little more space could help him unwind. A half-second too late he realized he’d encroached completely onto Dick’s side, his leg butting up against Dick’s thigh and the position of his arms forcing the smaller man to fold against his side. He snatched his limbs back and leaned away, but not before becoming uncomfortably aware of just how well Dick fit against his body. 

Dick sat stock still for a moment, looking ahead with extreme focus, then darted up off the couch and made a beeline for the kitchen. “I’d better check the pantry and make sure we have food!” he said, though he’d already done just that earlier on. 

Bruce stayed put. It was safer that way. He drew a deep breath through his nose, exhaled slowly, and started working out a game plan for surviving the evening without thoroughly embarrassing himself.

—-

“Oh, crap.”

Bruce jerked his head up from carefully studying his poker cards to find Dick staring out the living room window, his expression a mask of dread. “Oh crap, what?”

“The gutter. I knew the screws were coming a little loose, but I figured- damn, it’s not going to last if this wind keeps up much longer.”

Now that Dick had said it, Bruce could hear the grinding of metal over the howl of the wind. The storm had picked up in intensity over the last hour, and they were right in the thick of it now - the lights had started to flicker, and earlier on they’d both pressed up against the kitchen window to watch abandoned beach umbrellas go rolling across the back yard. There wasn’t much chance the wind would drop off in time to save the gutter.

“Is there any way to tack it down?” Bruce asked, already setting his cards aside and rising from his seat at the kitchen table. 

“Sure, if you want to get blown off the roof,” Dick said, resting his head in his hands. “I’ll just have to get it replaced later. Except - damn, it’ll probably take a chunk of the siding off, too, and it might break a window-”

“I think I’m a little too big to get blown around by this,” Bruce said, nodding at the window. “If you have some rope, I think we can salvage it.”

Dick looked up at him, still a little horrified, and flashed a sickly smile. “I don’t know how you find time for construction work on top of being, you know, Bruce Wayne, but I’ll trust you. Give me a minute to grab some things, and we’ll try.”

Five minutes later, Bruce found himself crawling out a second-story window into the middle of a storm, a coil of rope slung over his shoulder and a bright yellow rain slicker (a size too small) valiantly trying to shield him from the rain. A couple of seconds in, he was already soaked through, and despite his earlier bravado, the wind was so strong he did feel like at any second it might fling him right off the roof. 

Dick clambered out after him, and together they eased towards the edge and the failing gutter, holding tight to each other and anything else they could find. Sure enough, the lightweight metal had almost torn completely off, several inches of it hanging free and banging against the side of the roof. 

There wasn’t much talking to be had over the sound of the storm, but Bruce found he didn’t really need it. He could understand Dick’s gestures and his intentions, moving instinctively to give him support when he needed it, anchoring him while he leaned off the edge to inspect the damage. Together, they tied the gutter to one of the support beams between the deck and the roof, struggling with the sodden rope and slippery metal while the wind threatened to undo their work every step of the way.

Dick was tying up the last knot while Bruce fed him more rope when an especially strong gust of wind barreled down on them, catching Dick off-guard. He was already leaning out precariously, and when he lost his balance he started to slip, flailing helplessly to grab onto something. Without thinking, before he could even register the action, Bruce lunged for him, catching him by the back of his poncho and pulling him to safety, holding onto him until he was sure Dick had found his feet again.

They shuffled across the slick roof tiles and hauled themselves back in through the open window, soaking wet, dripping a fast-growing puddle on the floor from sodden raingear and hair. Bruce’s first instinct was to make sure Dick was alright and that he’d been left none the worse for wear after nearly toppling off the roof, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Dick cut him off by leaning up on tip-toes and brushing a kiss to his cheek.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Dick stunned by his own audacity, trying to mumble out a thank-you - and for him, being at a loss for words was an event. Bruce tried to wrap his head around the moment, weeks of repression thundering down on him just like the storm outside, but there was really no guessing anymore. Dick’s expression told him everything he needed to know.

He cleared his throat, realized the window was still yawning open and turned to close it, and when even that didn’t give him enough time to come up with an intelligent response to Dick’s chaste kiss, he did the only reasonable thing a man could do in his situation - he kissed him back.

Bruce wouldn’t have been surprised to see a flash of lightning outside or hear a boom of thunder at that moment. In his own head, he knew it was corny, thinking of the kiss as ‘electric’, but it was, sending sparks right down into his fingertips and toes. He was a grown man, but he felt like a teenager again, kissing Dick Grayson in the spare bedroom of his beach house, with a storm raging right outside the window - with Dick’s arms around his neck like they belonged there, and Dick’s mouth on his with so much hunger that Bruce knew he wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting for this. He folded him into an embrace, wet poncho and all, and Dick fit there perfectly, just the right size.

They could have gone on like that forever, as far as Bruce was concerned, making out until the storm passed and the kids came home to interrupt them. But with his arms wrapped tight around Dick’s body, he could feel him shivering from the cold, and knew that just hugging him wouldn’t be enough to warm him up. 

He broke away reluctantly, and the expression of giddy bliss on Dick’s face almost had him diving back in for more, but instead he scooped the smaller man up into his arms before either of them could say anything to make the moment awkward. Dick made a noise of surprise and flailed his arms for half a second, but Bruce dipped his head to draw another sweet kiss from him, and Dick melted against his chest.

“This is awfully cinematic,” Dick said, grinning, when Bruce broke away so that he could watch where he was going. “Are you going to wrap me up in blankets and sit me in front of a fireplace next?”

“That depends. Does your fireplace work?”

Dick laughed and buried his face against Bruce’s neck, flustered and immensely pleased. “It sure does. I hope you know how to build a proper fire, Mr. City Slicker. We don’t have any of that fancy gas fireplace stuff here.”

As it turned out, Bruce did. It took him a few minutes to remember the right arrangement of logs and tinder, but soon enough he had a healthy blaze going. In the meantime, Dick had scrounged up every quilt, afghan, and throw blanket in the house and had them piled up on the couch, ready to make a blanket fort big enough for two.

“There’s no way any of this is going to dry on my body,” Dick said as Bruce got back to his feet and turned to face him. He pulled at his soaked shirt and made a face, and then started stripping as though they hadn’t just made out upstairs - as though this time was no different from all the other times he’d slouched around the house in swim trunks. It took all of Bruce’s self-control not to make any embarrassing noises, and he decided that, rather than standing there staring, he’d better follow Dick’s lead. 

It did feel pretty good to get out of his wet clothes, and he hung up both sets of shirts and jeans by the fireplace to dry out. At least his boxers were still serviceable - he wasn’t sure he was ready for complete nudity. Dick had on a tight undershirt and briefs, and together that seemed like a healthy amount of clothing to keep between them.

Bruce was immensely satisfied to find that Dick was the one standing around, staring, when he turned back to face him. He caught himself and snapped his mouth shut, blushing and a little flustered.

“You were the one who said we should strip,” Bruce said mildly, reaching for one of the quilts to bundle Dick into. Dick tucked it gratefully around his shoulders and dropped down to sit in front of the fireplace.

“Listen, I’ve been staring at your pecs for weeks. Now I’m staring at your pecs and thinking about kissing you - it’s kind of a lot to process.”

Bruce chuckled at that, thought about admitting to staring at Dick’s ass, and then thought better of it. He grabbed a blanket of his own and sat down beside Dick, extending an arm to offer an embrace. This time, it wasn’tawkward at all. Dick leaned against him with a happy sigh, wrapping a blanket-covered arm around his middle.

“Y’know, we could’ve saved a lot of trouble if we’d just started off by telling each other ‘nice butt’ from the start,” Dick said.

“You think my butt’s nice?”

Dick gave him a look, and then reached down with his free hand to try and grab him, and Bruce retaliated by tickling his ribs, which only escalated to Dick trying the same tactic - and finding that Bruce was about as ticklish as a brick wall. When Bruce remained stoic and almost expressionless (but for the twitch of a smile) despite his best efforts, Dick instead resorted to brute force, tackling the bigger man and pushing him down. 

The storm did its best to sound loud and terrifying outside, but it had a hard time making itself heard over the two grown men laughing and wrestling in a pile of blankets in the middle of the living room.

—-

The power went out about half an hour later. Bruce and Dick didn’t mind, and Dick at least had been expecting it. While Bruce fielded texts from Damian to be sure the boys were still alright, Dick left the warmth and safety of the blanket fort to retrieve candles, glasses of wine, and, for the sake of responsibility, a flashlight. Padding around the house in the dark gave him a couple of minutes to collect himself, as well - he couldn’t quitebelieve that he’d spent the last hour or so alternately kissing and cuddling Bruce Wayne. The tabloids, if there were any to be found in this town, would have a field day. 

Bruce was so startlingly comfortable that Dick didn’t know what to do with himself. He wasn’t one to get shy or flustered, usually, but handsome Mr. Wayne hit all the right buttons, and every time Dick thought about the fact that he’d made out with him he’d get all tingly and tongue-tied, but then Bruce would say something or do something that put him right at ease again, like he knew what was going on in his head. 

For example - the romance novel. When Dick had come back with candles and wine, Bruce was sitting up against the couch with a ratty old paperback in hand. With the wine and the candles and the near-nudity, Dick was pretty sure there was only one way their evening could go, but instead he found himself tucked up under Bruce’s arm, laughing until his sides hurt as Bruce read it aloud to him.

“Before she could stop herself,” Bruce intoned in a deep, serious voice, “Her eyes had wandered down his broad, powerful body, tracing the lines of his shoulders and arms, the hard muscles of his stomach, the thatch of dark hair trailing down from his navel. A dark flush colored her cheeks and she looked away, hoping the darkness provided her cover.”

Dick laughed, but maybe the laugh was a little more strained this time, because that line - that line was a bit too appropriate, considering the circumstances. “So she’s just had a horrifying nightmare,” he said, “And yet she can’t stop staring at beefy blacksmith dude? I call bull on that.”

Bruce glanced down at him with an entirely too knowing smile. “What about near-death experiences while trying not to fall off a roof? That’s somewhat similar.”

Dick knew he was blushing now, exactly like the heroine in the book. “Don’t get smart with me, big guy. You just keep on reading.”

Bruce shrugged with feigned indifference and turned the page. “If that’s what you want. I’m sure there’s a passage about torrid loins and heated passion coming up here somewhere…”

Dick snatched the book out of his hands and tossed it across the room. “That’s it, buddy, you just lost your reading privileges.”

“That’s alright,” Bruce said, following Dick’s own movement and twisting to pin him to the floor, “I think I know how the rest of it goes.” 

Dick squirmed under him, very aware of how warm Bruce was, how big he was, and the fact that he wasn’t wearing much of anything at all. “Is that so?” he asked with a little catch in his voice. 

“I’ll show you,” Bruce rumbled, and Dick could’ve sworn his voice dropped two octaves, which was incredibly hot, but nowhere near how it felt to have Bruce kiss him again. After being pretty well in control of himself the whole night, Dick knew that he was suddenly and extremely hard, and that there was no hiding it in his too-small briefs. 

When Bruce let him up for air again, Dick wanted to say something silly, to mimic the book’s heroine in a breathy falsetto, but instead channeled his jangling nerves into bowing his body back towards Bruce’s to mouth at his neck and shoulders. He tasted like salt and rain and smelled like woodsmoke, and Dick was surprised he didn’t just come undone right then and there.

He did, later on - several times, in fact. They didn’t notice the storm anymore, nor when it passed, nor even when the power came back on and the fire in the fireplace guttered low. They had too much lost time to make up for.

—-

When Bruce cracked an eye open the next morning, the first thing he noticed was Dick still in his arms, one long leg thrown over his hip. The second was that it was very lucky they’d kept a blanket tucked around them, because Tim and Damian were standing in the living room, staring down at them.

“Father!” Damian yelped, an octave too high. “This is- this is very inappropriate.”

Tim looked torn between being pulling a face and laughing. “I dunno, Dami, maybe they were just afraid of the dark. C’mon, let’s let them… uh, wake up a little. I think there are leftover waffles in the fridge.”

For once, Damian did what Tim said, skulking out of the room after him, looking mortified. Bruce grimaced and hid his face against Dick’s shoulder once they’d gone, masking the gesture by kissing him again.

“Well, there aren’t many worse places that could have gone,” he said.

Dick stifled an awkward laugh and folded himself up against Bruce’s chest, nuzzling him. “They could’ve found us sprawled out naked in a pile of vodka bottles.”

“Vodka?” Bruce snorted. “Gin, maybe. Good gin.”

“And I guess we do have the naked part down,” Dick added, snaking a hand between them. Bruce cocked his hips forward to trap his arm before he could grab him.

“Slow down there, tiger. We should probably make ourselves presentable before the waffles distraction wears off.”

Dick let out a heavy sigh, and then sat up to scan the room for their discarded underwear. “At least we know we can always send the kids out for ice cream later.”

Bruce made a noise of protest, but felt a warm glow of pleasure all the same, and suspected that the rest of Damian’s vacation would involve a lot of solo ice cream expeditions.

—-

Alright, maybe not solo ice cream expeditions. Damian spent a lot more time with Tim and Jason after the storm, all without Bruce’s prompting. More often than not Bruce would have to text him in the morning to find out where he’d gone. That was fine - perfect, even. Not only was his antisocial son actually socializing, that gave him plenty of guilt-free hours to spend completely wrapped up in Dick’s company. 

Once he’d taken that first head-over-heels stumble, he fell hard. There was no activity that wasn’t made better by having Dick at his side. Even helping with dishes in the evening went from a good-natured obligation to an actual pleasure, the both of them standing hip-by-hip in front of the sink and just talking. Bruce hadn’t had someone to talk to like this in a long time. Alfred was a great listener, sure, and Damian was a pretty good conversationalist when he felt like it, but Dick was more his equal. 

And he was fascinating, under all that beach sand and his carefree attitude.

“You grew up in a circus?” Bruce asked, carefully drying the delicate edge of a wine glass. “I didn’t think anyone actually did that these days.”

Dick nodded and started to work on the big dutch oven he’d cooked their dinner in. “You’d be surprised. Plenty of people still run away to the big top, and where I was born - where my parents came from - there’s kind of still a whole industry built around it.”

“Seems like that’d be an exciting life,” Bruce said. “Why did you leave it?”

He regretted asking the question almost immediately. Dick wasn’t hard to read, once he’d learned to pick up on hs tells - for example, now, he was avoiding eye contact and scrubbing harder than necessary at a stubborn bit of char at the bottom of the pot. 

“There weren’t quite so many safety and insurance regulations when I was growing up,” he said without looking up. “My parents were the greatest acrobats in the country. In any country. But you have a few hard years, you let your equipment go a little…”

Bruce set his dish rag down and folded Dick into a slightly soggy embrace, ignoring the water and soap suds on his arms. Dick leaned against him gratefully, and Bruce realized after a moment that he was smiling.

“Thanks,” Dick said, kissing his shoulder. “It was a long time ago. But, you know how it is, you bring it up after so long… well, ok, maybe you don’t know.”

Bruce gave a quiet laugh and rubbed slow circles against Dick’s back. “Actually, I do. And it… never gets any easier.”

Dick looked up at him and made an embarrassed noise. “Christ, that was insensitive of me. I’m sorry, Bruce, I just assumed- I mean, it’s not exactly common. But you’re famous, so… pretty much everyone but me must know that. I really have to start googling people-”

Bruce, recognizing by now when Dick was babbling, cut him off with a gentle kiss, and Dick relaxed again immediately. 

“I’m sorry to hear about your parents,” he said when they broke apart again. 

“Thanks,” Dick said with a smile that held only trace amounts of sadness. “I’m sorry about yours.”

Somehow, knowing Dick shared this painful fragment of his history made it easier to bear. Remembering what had happened was never easy, but he could shake it off without dwelling on it, knowing that Dick already understood. 

They went back to the dishes, Dick hefting over the sparkling clean dutch oven for Bruce to dry. “So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Bruce said, “How did you end up out here after that?”

“Old Mr. Haly was pretty smart with his finances, for a guy who owned a circus,” Dick said. “I mean, that’s not really the wisest business venture. He put money into property, when he had a little extra, and this is one of his investments. His favorite, actually.”

“Not bad,” Bruce said approvingly. “So you moved out here to keep an eye on the place?”

“He’d gone into retirement out here the year before, so I came on to help around the house. The rest, as they say, is history. I’ve been here ever since, and I don’t think I’ll ever leave.”

Bruce felt an unexpected pang of unease at that. They’d just passed the first of August earlier in the week, and every day put him one step closer to Gotham. He shook it off and took another dish, tucking his concern away at the back of his mind. They still had nearly a month together. Best not to sully that by worrying about the future.

—-

They made the most of what time they had left, at any rate. Bruce started sneaking into Dick’s room at night, once he thought Damian and Tim were both safely asleep (they weren’t - more than once Bruce found booby traps outside his door at night and knowing, grossed-out looks from his son in the morning). The first couple of nights he did that, he thought he’d never be able to get out of bed, especially not when Dick woke him with kisses. But it was difficult to ignore the beckoning summer sunshine, and more often than not Dick and Bruce were up first, cooking breakfast for the kids and, occasionally, Jason. 

There was also more to do than Bruce had expected. Not just swimming and exploring the town - summer festivals, tiny local museums, ocean tours, and more hiking trails than anyone could ever expect to explore in one lifetime. Bruce never thought of himself as a particularly outdoorsy man, but he took to hiking boots and trail maps like he’d been born in the Catskills.

Perhaps he took to it a little too well.

“Father, that’s an overnight backpacking trail,” Damian said, snatching the map from Bruce before he could turn them down the wrong side of the fork they were currently facing. “We are not prepared for that.”

“We have backpacks, don’t we?” Bruce said with a shrug, trying not to laugh when Damian threw up his arms in disgust.

“Backpacks full of sandwiches, not tents and-” Damian made a noise of frustration and turned to Dick with a plaintive look. “Grayson, will you make him listen?”

“He has a point,” Dick said, taking the map to look for himself. “I mean, I’d be perfectly ok with my own personal space heater, but-”

“That’s not the point!” Damian sputtered. “The point is, Drake and I would freeze and be eaten to death by mosquitoes, and while he’s no great loss-”

Tim snorted, looking amused by the whole exchange. “Hey, I was a boy scout. I know how to make a shelter out of branches and deadfall and stuff. The only one who’s freezing out here is you.”

Damian looked about ready to commit murder, and Bruce moved to soothe his ruffled feathers by promising to take the right trail fork, but before he could get a word out, he was interrupted by the jarring ringing of his cell phone. 

“You have service out here?” Dick asked, cocking his head. The other two had turned to stare at Bruce as well, Damian looking resigned - his father never turned down a call, no matter what. A hiking trip wasn’t likely to dissuade him.

Bruce pulled out his phone, apologetic, and looked at the screen. Sure enough, it was his Important New Client, and at 2:30 on a Wednesday, it probably wasn’t a frivolous call. Dick’s shoulders dropped a little when Bruce went for his phone, and he went back to perusing the map, trying not to look disappointed.

Bruce let the phone ring, and then shut it off completely, stuffing it back into his pocket.

“There’s supposed to be a waterfall another mile on,” he said, smiling at the gratitude on Dick’s face. “Sounds like a pretty good place for a picnic to me.”

“Just as long as it doesn’t end up a death march,” Damian said, grumbling, but clearly happy that his father had hung up the phone. “You are far too happy about all of this woodsiness.”

Bruce let Tim and Damian blaze the way so that he could hang back and thread his fingers through Dick’s. The trail wasn’t really wide enough for two in most places, but that didn’t stop them from walking side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder.

—-

The summer passed all too quickly. Wayne Tech’s board members grew more concerned as the days past Bruce’s stated vacation rolled by and their CEO failed to reappear - failed, even, to check in more than once a day. E-mails went unanswered, forwarded on to more junior members to deal with. Bruce drank in every day of the failing summer like it was his last, and when he and Dick were together, alone, bodies entwined, there was a desperate edge to their trysts. He had responsibilities. He had a company to run, a vast and lonely penthouse to return to. Damian started school in a week. There was no other option but to return to Gotham.

Dick felt it too, and on those last few days his smiles were brittle, and their conversations held unspoken, unanswered questions. Would they ever see each other again? Would Bruce welcome Dick into his life in Gotham? It was an untenable situation - they belonged to two completely different worlds.

The summer visitors left the tiny beachside town. Seasonal shops closed up; vacation houses were dark and empty. Bruce and Damian packed up slowly over days, dragging every bit of clothing into suitcases like they were made of lead. But eventually, inevitably, the day came when they couldn’t extend their stay any longer, when suitcases and bags of souvenirs ended up in the back of the rental car and Bruce and Dick had to say their goodbyes.

“So, this is it,” Dick said, not quite meeting Bruce’s eye across the breakfast table. He’d put it the table between them on purpose, afraid of what he’d do with Bruce’s hand in his - afraid that he simply wouldn’t let him go. “It’s been a crazy summer, hasn’t it?”

Bruce nodded and cleared his throat, hesitant. Dick didn’t like seeing the uncertainty in his big, strong frame and glanced away at the dishes stacked in the sink, thinking about how he’d better soak them so the syrup wouldn’t stick, not thinking about how lonely it’d be to scrub them without Bruce beside him with a dish towel in hand.

“I’m sure we’ll be back next year,” Bruce said after a heavy pause. “You’ve been- it’s been great. The best vacation we’ve had in years. Damian’s like a new person.”

Dick gave a fragile laugh and shrugged. “Fresh air and sunshine works wonders. And he’s been showing off for Jason lately, too. A couple more weeks and I think he and Tim might actually be friends.”

Bruce smiled at that. Tim and Damian were out back, exchanging a few last insults and dramatic eye rolls, along with explicit instructions from Damian to Tim to pass on anything Jason said about him when he was gone. For all their mutual antagonism, they’d grown as close as brothers.

“There’s always Facebook.” Bruce glanced out the window, a small frown furrowing his brow. “I suppose we should be off. The board finally roped me into a business dinner for tonight, and if I miss it they might just change the name on the building.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Dick said, flashing a grin. “Then you’d never stop running into yokels like me who don’t know who Mr. Wayne is.”

“That was nice, actually,” Bruce said, his expression softening. “Very… charming.”

“Why, Mr. Wayne,” Dick said with a trace of a tease, though his smile was a shadow of its usual self. “Come on, let’s get you on your way. I’d hate to make you miss another meeting.”

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but just shook his head instead and got up from the table. Dick wanted to jump up and grab him, pull him into an embrace, kiss him breathless - but all he could do was follow after him and try to keep on smiling.

—-

For Bruce, returning to Gotham felt like going from full-color to shades of gray. Tall buildings replaced the endless greenery, and with every mile his heart grew heavier. He kept up a cheerful front for Damian’s sake, though his son seemed pretty depressed himself. He’d gotten out of the habit of endless texting over the summer, but it returned in full-force on the drive home, and Bruce suspected he’d added two new contacts before they’d left.

It didn’t help matters that Bruce was immediately plunged back into work. He’d always enjoyed running his company, his family’s company, but it was hard to work up the enthusiasm for it when he woke every morning in his huge, empty bed to a view of the bleak city skyline. Somehow, the innumerable comforts of his penthouse apartment seemed to pale in comparison to tacky wallpaper and a tiny, sunny kitchen. 

At least he had Alfred to keep him on track, otherwise he wasn’t sure he could’ve faced plunging headfirst back into his fast-paced life. His faithful butler seemed to know what was wrong without being told and was always on hand, clearly waiting for Bruce to spill the whole story, but Bruce felt like he had nothing to say. He’d left Dick behind, and a chunk of his heart with him, and for that he deserved what he was feeling now. 

—-

“Father, this moping about is completely intolerable.”

Damian made the announcement at breakfast, no preamble, just an upraised cereal spoon and a sharp declaration. Bruce startled a bit and set his paper down, raising a brow at his son’s deadpan expression.

“It’s been three weeks,” Damian continued, “And you are starting to annoy me.”

“Annoy you?” Bruce asked, more amused than angry at his son’s attitude. “I’m starting to annoy you? Who’s been leaving his dirty socks in the bathroom lately?”

“Those are just socks,” Damian snorted, waving him off. “I’m talking about you, sulking around all the time. It’s depressing.”

Bruce looked across the room to Alfred for backup, but Alfred only smiled and said, “Young master Damian is quite right. It’s been very dour here since your return.”

“You see?” Damian put his spoon down and folded his hands. “Pennyworth agrees with me. It’s about time you gave Grayson a call.”

Bruce didn’t really know what to say to that. He blinked owlishly, looking between Damian and Alfred, wondering if they’d planned this together - and, indeed, before he could come up with a reasonable objection, Damian was sliding his cellphone across the table at him, Dick’s phone number already pulled up.

“A reliable source tells me that he’s not busy this morning,” Damian said, “So you’d better hurry up before that meeting of yours. And if you don’t, I’ll start leaving my socks in your bed.”

Leaving Bruce still gaping like a fish, Damian picked up his empty cereal bowl, popped it in the sink, and then he and Alfred both left Bruce to his own devices in the dining room, the cellphone staring up at him.

Bruce had thought about calling Dick nearly every day since they’d left. The first night, he’d stared at his phone for a good ten minutes, pulling up Dick’s number and then switching over to a solitaire app, and in the end he’d gone to bed without even attempting to make the call. He’d slept poorly, and the next night resolved to go through with it, but again, he’d only stared at his phone for a while before deciding that maybe Dick didn’twant to hear from him yet.

It’d been three weeks, and now Bruce was sure that Dick must hate him for never calling, for never even e-mailing him. How could everything be so easy with the man standing right in front of him, but so impossibly difficult at a distance?

He picked up the phone and exhaled a heavy sigh, then glanced up towards the kitchen doorway. Damian was probably lurking right around the corner, ready to shove him back into the kitchen if he didn’t actually make the damn phonecall. There was nothing else for it, then - Damian’s socks were rank after all of his athletics, and Bruce had no doubt he’d go through with his threat if his father didn’t comply with his demands.

The phone felt like lead in his hands and his fingers were numb, but somehow he managed to hit the dial button. Every buzzing ring tone made him jump, and when he finally heard Dick pick up, heard his warm voice across the hundreds of miles separating them, he was surprised his heart didn’t leap completely free of his chest.

“Hello?”

Bruce leaned back in his chair with a smile that could’ve put the sun to shame.

—-

It took one phone call.

From the moment he heard Dick’s voice in his ear, Bruce knew he’d been a fool for worrying. This was exactly what he’d needed these past weeks - what Dick had needed, as well. The miles between them didn’t matter at that moment. Nothing else did - not the impossibility of them being together, not the nebulous and undefined status of their relationship. All Bruce needed was Dick’s voice, the smile in his tone, the warm flutter in his chest from hearing him again.

From that moment, he knew he had to make it work. There wasn’t any other option, and Dick knew it too. Soon, nightly phone calls became video chats, and Bruce earned curious looks from his board with his constant under-the-table texting during meetings. Damian went from complaining about his moroseness to griping about how cheerful he was - and demanding updates on Tim and Jason every morning at breakfast. 

It took them a little while to figure out a workable solution. Only when the weather grew unbearably cold and Bruce invited Dick (and Jason) over for Christmas did they realize that the obvious answer had been right in front of them all along.

The B&B did almost all of its business during the summer. When Dick came for Christmas, he locked the place up and stayed in Gotham right through until spring, taking Bruce up on his hospitality just the way Bruce did, his. 

And that was how they stayed together - wintering in one city, spending sunny summers in another. Though Bruce insisted Dick didn’t need to do anything to earn his keep while he was in Gotham, Dick couldn’t stay idle for long and picked up a few courses in business at Gotham U, along with teaching gymnastics on the side. Watching him on the bars was incredible, though he hadn’t done it in years. As he said entirely too often during those first few months, you can take the boy out of the circus, but you can’t take the circus out of the boy.

Damian put a moratorium on that phrase after a while, and Bruce silently agreed, though when Dick put that acrobat flexibility to use there wasn’t much he couldn’t get away with.

—-

“Bruce, are you coming?”

Bruce shook himself out of his reverie and got up from the dishes-laden breakfast table to join Dick out in the living room. Everyone else was ready to go - Dick, Damian, Tim, and a whole gang of their friends, towels and sunscreen and snorkels jammed into bags scattered around the room. Alfred patiently corralled the noisy herd, and despite the general chaos Bruce thought he looked pleased.

“I’m riding in Pennyworth’s car, and there’s not enough room for your girlfriend, Drake,” Damian said, throwing a scowl at the blonde girl on Tim’s arm. 

“I don’t know, Damian,” she replied with a grin, “I think your big head might be more of a problem.”

Bruce was about to jump in and break up the inevitable fight, but before he could do anything, calm, quiet Cass - a friend of Jason’s - moved in between them and said something too low for Bruce to hear. Damian backed down immediately, and then the red-head West kid started complaining that he was hungry again, and the conflict was forgotten as Alfred maneuvered the whole group out the door like a master tactician. 

Bruce followed along behind with Dick beside him, realizing after a moment that he was grinning - that he hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d gotten up from the breakfast table. Dick looped an arm through his and said, “Just think, a year ago you’d be enjoying a nice, peaceful, quiet Saturday breakfast.”

Bruce chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze. “Who’d want that?”

They walked out the front door and into the bright spring sunshine, and Bruce knew he had everything he wanted right here.


End file.
